Adrift
by Lala Kate
Summary: Need, touch, acceptance, different scenarios, different AU's. A series of one-shot drabbles I have posted on tumblr about this amazing pair. If you visit that realm and want to toss me a prompt, please feel free. :)
1. Adrift

_I have been writing for Downton Abbey for over a year now, and this is my first posting in the "Once Upon a Time" realm. I am captivated by Emma and Killian, both as individuals and as a couple, and scripting this ficlet was a joy._

_Own nothing, love everything. And any and all feedback is always most appreciated and welcome. :)_

_My thanks to miscreant rose for reading everything I write, whether she watches OUaT or not! You're a doll, my dear, and I appreciate your feedback more than I can say._

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How it began is still a fog, her reason cast into a realm of sensation and dreams too hazy to function, too heated to care. Lines are blurred, reality obscured, logical thought too dangerous to grant a foothold.

There is only this. Only him.

And she needs him like air.

His mouth pillages hers, claiming shards of a spirit too bruised to protest. One hand massages her hair, a rounded remnant presses her back, stroking skin with more finesse and fire than fingers could ever summon, leading her down a path she fears yet dares not refuse. She is engulfed by this man of salt and sea, cast adrift by one who knows the darkness of being lost.

Of being alone.

No longer, she promises herself. She has lived in the shadows too long.

Lips traverse hidden valleys down the slopes of her neck, riding the curves of her clavicle, strumming nerves taut in anticipation of what his tongue will find next. Warm breath forges new territory, tickling the crevice of her chest before rising to hover over her breast. He claims it with a fire she needs, pulling want from her with a rough artistry that keeps her off-balance.

He is everywhere, exploring her like a map, taking the scenic route to his destination, roaming off course on purpose. She is worth more than jewels to him, more important to his existence than the very blood in his veins. All of her is not enough, it will never be enough, for there is more to this woman of iron and flesh than he can uncover in a lifetime.

She is his heart. She is everything.

There is openness and filling, cries and caresses mixing with things left unspoken, creating something beyond them both. Sweat slickened touches, names whispered into skin, moans crashing into emotion, they craft a dance unique to them, the tango of new lovers that crescendos into bursting light.

Then breathing and stillness, limbs entangled, bodies still joined. There is only this. Only him…only her. Adrift together on the realm of tomorrow.

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_Thanks so much for reading. :) A penny for your thoughts..._


	2. Wagers in the Dark

She stares into blackness, another night of lost sleep pushing her from the comfort of their bed in an attempt to still restless legs.

"This isn't funny, you know," she speaks into nothing, her admonition fogging the glass. "I really, really need my sleep."

Her forehead touches the pain, feeling stirrings both inside and behind her that prompt a weary sigh.

"Is she giving you a difficult time again, Love?"

The words wrap around her lethargically, matching the warmth of his hand now resting on a midriff too swollen for comfort.

"Of course," she whispers, resting one hand on top of his. "What else should I expect? He's being as difficult as his father."

A sleep-filled chuckle tickles her back, a gentle kiss touching down where her neck meets her shoulder.

"I'd say she's being as stubborn as her mother."

She turns her head to face him, staring into eyes cast silver by the night's shadows.

"You wanna bet?"

A slow grin slides across her lips, drawing him to her as it always does. Mouths caress, relishing the familiar on the cusp of something new. He takes his time with her, stroking, calming, pouring into her just a measure of all she has given him—a man who had forgotten how it felt to be loved now expecting more than he deserves.

"Aye," he smiles, stroking her hair. "I'll take that wager. But you should remember just how dangerous it is to bet against a pirate."


	3. Fatigue

She cannot do this anymore.

It is hopeless and draining, this search for her son pulling on every ounce of reserve she has left. She is failing him…Henry, the one thing she has done right in her life, the one person she cannot lose.

God—how can she reach him in time when they're lost on an island that almost thinks for itself? She is out of ideas, out of options, feeling the need to scream from her toes well up in her chest.

"You alright, Love?"

She shuts her eyes to his question, both glad he is here and wishing he would just vanish.

"No. I'm a long way from alright."

He moves to a ledge beside her, resting elbows on his thighs. Her spine stiffens, her throat dries, her soul craving an assurance she knows no one can really give her.

"Don't despair, Emma," he encourages, somehow making her look at him without a single touch. "We'll find Henry. I know we will."

"Don't try to placate me, Hook," she retorts. "I know what the odds are, and they are not good."

She starts as a warm palm encircles hers, looking into eyes that keep surprising her, especially when drained of their bravado.

"When have you ever been defeated by the odds? Hmmm?"

His question pierces something, something she can't afford to entertain, something if lost would destroy her.

"Plenty of times," she throws back, staring into a maze of a jungle.

"Not since I've known you," he argues, continuing to hold her hand with a familiarity she finds both assuring and disturbing. "You're the savior, after all. Who better to save your son than you?"

"I'm just Emma," she argues, needing someone to feel just how badly that title fits her. "Why can't anyone understand that but me?"

He looks into her with a force that makes her shudder.

"Perhaps because we see what you can't."

Something hits her, bubbling out of her chest, plowing up from her core, a need, a longing, an emptiness somehow only he can fill. She grabs him as she did before, tugging his mouth back to hers, feeling something akin to lighting jolt her spine on contact.

This is new, this is different, a bonding of bruised people, a cry for help on the deepest level. Lips tug, tongues dance, mouths open for exploration, demanding a supply of the other that mines deep places. Then she is on his lap, his hands on her back, her fingers in his hair, bodies so close the form a lone profile.

They pull back slowly, both awe-struck and broken, clasping on to an assurance just given by the other, feeling on different levels what cannot be voiced.

"Let's go get him, Emma," he states, the sincerity in his eyes bolstering what remains shaky inside her.

"Alright," she whispers, standing on legs that cannot afford to fail. "Let's go."


End file.
